


All Of You

by VisionaryGalaxy



Series: A Thousand Futures of Me and You [93]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Don't copy to another site, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Idiots in Love, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, stubborn Stephen Strange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2020-01-04 20:59:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18351605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VisionaryGalaxy/pseuds/VisionaryGalaxy
Summary: Stephen was capable of a lot, but he didn’t seem capable of walking away.





	All Of You

**Author's Note:**

> Me trying to make up for yesterday...

   It was late, later then Stephen would usually linger in Tony’s bed, but he couldn’t seem to draw his eyes away from the quiet sight before him. The man looked so peaceful, chest rising and falling with deep breaths, sweat and dishevelled hair clinging to his forehead, blankets curled enticingly around his waist, thrown over haphazardly as he sunk into unconsciousness. The gentle silver light falling over him completed the captivating picture and Stephen was overwhelmed with the urge to just touch, to stay, to pretend this wasn’t some dream to be broken by the harsh sting of reality.

   He didn’t of course. He never did, never stayed, never spoke of it outside the secure walls of Tony’s bedroom. Stephen knew what they were doing, what they had been doing was reckless at best and cruel at worst, had seen the way Tony’s eyes seemed to soften when he looked at him, the small gestures, gentle inquiries, all telling more then the man wanted to reveal.

   Stephen should stop. Should say no. Should stay away.

   The sad truth of it was he didn’t know how. Tony’s touch, his voice, his eyes were the only things that seemed to quiet his mind in the aftermath of Titan. It had been a lot, peering into the Time Stone, still was, but whenever Tony was there, it all became muted, a numbing white noise in the back of his head and suddenly it was like he could _breath_ again.

   Stephen was capable of a lot, but he didn’t seem capable of walking away.

   Even though Tony Stark deserved more, deserved to be loved and cherished, not left alone in used sheets and a room stinking of sex like some casual fuck. Stephen wasn’t capable of giving him anything more and the realization grated at him, knowing that he wasn’t worthy of him yet couldn’t do right by him.

   Tomorrow maybe, always tomorrow.

   Stephen slipped from beneath the covers, hating the chill that immediately seeped into his skin. He summoned his robes, let the Cloak find its place on his shoulders, and summoned a portal, not daring to look back at the lone figure in the bed, ignoring the yearning to simply curl up next to him.

\---

   There was an insistent throbbing at the back of his skull, caused in part by Rogers’ irritating droning and the rest from nightmares the night before. He was all but useless in this meeting and had been considering for months now, telling Cap to cut him out of anything that didn’t involve magical threats. But then…he knew why he didn’t.

   “Stephen?”

   He blinked up, realizing the meeting had ended and the room was clear. Getting lost in his head again, not a good sign, never a good sign these days. Stephen sighed quietly, taking in Tony’s form next to him, felt the headache dull a little, felt his lungs fill easier. The man was looking down at him with barely contained concern, misplaced and too tender for Stephen to bare, too familiar.

   Those were the eyes that looked at him every day in the week following Titan, as if somehow, his pain could be even close to that of Tony’s. Stephen knew it wasn’t, had seen it all in high-definition and brutal gruesome imagery. Ah, but there Stephen went forgetting again, Tony only experienced one of those futures.

   “Come on,” Tony murmured, clearly tired of waiting for a proper response.

   A hand, warm and comforting pressed to his back, guiding him to stand and Stephen swore the Cloak had to help him, legs inexplicably shaky. He must have drained more magic then he thought yesterday, Wong would be upset, he was always over doing it.

   Stephen followed Tony silently, knowing they were headed to his private office. They spent a lot of time there arguing, he wondered if they had something to fight about today, he couldn’t remember.

   The door clicked shut and he was being guided onto the soft couch, Stephen had fond memories of this couch, of Tony on this couch. He sunk down gratefully, leaning back into the cushions, ignoring Tony’s furrowed brows as he kneeled in front of him, a hand being pressed to his skin carefully, touching his pulse point. He needed to brush Tony up on his first-aid apparently.

   Tony’s voice was soft, soothing, “you’re really out of it, what happened this time?”

   Stephen shrugged, “practicing magic, nightmares, the usual.”

   He saw the hesitation in Tony’s eyes, the way his mouth opened then closed before finally letting out a frustrated sigh, “you could have come to me, you know I don’t mind late nights,” light upturn of the lips.

   It was true, they had spent most of their nights plagued by nightmares and spent them together in quiet conversation, alcohol, flirting. It was what got Stephen into this mess to begin with, had broken his ironclad control in a flurry of arousal and lowered inhibitions.

   Except, they didn’t do that as often anymore. Not since starting this _arrangement_. It seemed a fair price to pay for Stephen’s stupidity, for taking what wasn’t his, for poisoning the clean well that was Tony Stark with his attentions.

   Because he hadn’t _seen_ this.

   He had seen so many futures, some bright, some dark, most mediocre and in not one did he see him and Tony together. He saw love, how could he not? The man kneeling before him was the perfect example of humanity; flawed, broken, forever _trying._ Stephen had a sneaking suspicion for a long time now that the Universe planned it that way, so that he would make the right choice. But that future didn’t contain a _them_ , let alone what Stephen really craved, what he really wanted.

   He was fucking it all up.

   “I know. You’re sleeping more regularly now, didn’t want to disturb you.”

   He didn’t miss the frown, didn’t miss the disappointment in Tony’s eyes, didn’t even miss the way they darted away before looking back with a quiet sigh. Tony squeezed his hand, always mindful of the ache, “I don’t mind.”

   Stephen wished he could deny the fact he fell asleep on Tony’s couch while the man worked at his desk, monologuing away, voice the best kind of lullaby. Wished he could pretend he didn’t wake up with Tony pressed to his side, running a hand through is hair gently. Wished, he could claim he didn’t see the hurt in the depths of those brown eyes when he beat a hasty retreat back to the Sanctuary.

\---

   Stephen watched with a horrid sense of inevitability as Tony tumbled out of the sky, as his suit malfunctioned, sparks alighting the air around him. In an excruciating 3.6 seconds Stephen watched hundreds of images filter through his mind, memories, discarded futures before he was able to act. The Cloak swung forward at his command, flinging itself toward the falling figure, while Stephen’s hands shot out, sling ring on and ready, as his trembling fingers made a portal. The descent was slowed by the Cloak just enough that as he fell into the portal, he would be alright, safe and sound but for the impact of the initial hit by the creature.

   Stephen fell to his knees, alone and unseen in his little piece of rubble that was their battlefield. He listened in a daze as reports came of victory not moments later, eyes closed to hide the tears within, heart starting up its painful rhythm again as he inhaled.

   He was there longer then anticipated, shaking and trying to get his head on right, to remember where he was, what future this was. It was difficult and getting worse by the day to recall as things changed constantly around him, making him lose the fragile tether he’d been clinging to.

   Wong found him, expression grave and pitying. It would be hateful of it were anyone else, but as it was, he simply looked up at him with a desperation that was becoming worse and worse. Wong was the only one that knew, the only one who understood that somewhere things had gone wrong and Stephen didn’t know what path to tread anymore.

   “Go, go to him,” was all he said.

   Stephen went without question.

   Tony had a concussion, two broken ribs, and an impressive array of bruising. Stephen could practically hear his complaints already, as he took a seat by his side. He ignored the looks from the Avengers as he sat, pretended he didn’t see the approval and kindness in Pepper and Rhodey’s eyes, wished Bruce would stop with that knowing, sympathetic gaze.

   He stayed the night, a silent vigil, that felt reminiscent of his surgeon days when he took a special interest in a particular patient. Except Tony was more then special, Tony was…well what wasn’t he really? As if Stephen hadn’t been willing to carve his heart out with a kitchen knife if it meant keeping him alive, since the moment he came out of the Time Stone.

   He felt sick, staring at Tony’s unmoving form because that was why he chose this future, because Tony lived. The thought that Stephen’s lack of self-control meant he had  catapulted Tony into a future where that was no longer true was enough to make him believe it when he said _tomorrow_ this time.

   When, as the sun began to rise, Tony slowly shifted in the hospital bed, head tilted but eyes still firmly shut, Stephen’s breath caught painfully. Then, quietly, almost imperceptible to the ear, Tony’s mouth opened, and a single word slipped out, “Stephen.”

   He froze as a wave of dread washed through him.

   He had known. It would be stupid to deny it.

   Stephen had hoped, like an idiot that he could have Tony, in the basest of forms and maybe just maybe save him from a fate not destined to him. It was never that easy, Tony had been growing increasingly attached and Stephen had been a fool to think the man would passively accept Stephen’s rebuttals of a real relationship. Tony wasn’t made like that and now Stephen felt like an executioner.

   He stood and left without a word before Tony could wake to find him at his bedside.

\---

   It was easy at first, throwing himself into his scrolls and training, and dimensional traveling. Anything and everything that would distract him from Tony, from his misstep, from the only thing that had given him peace since Titan.

   It got harder when the text messages wouldn’t stop and the phone calls which grew increasingly irate as both forms went unanswered. He told himself it was boredom of a hospital bed making Tony so desperate for distraction, he pretended he didn’t know the truth. On the third day of texts intermixed with both worry and pleading he broke his phone, unceremoniously dropping it through a portal into the ocean. He ignored the Cloak’s judgemental stare.

   On his fourteenth day of minimal sleep, mind haunted with violet eyes and multitudes of Tony’s death, he curled up in the sitting room with a steaming cup of tea, staring blankly at Wong’s sad, disapproving expression.

   “You’ve lost the thread.”

   “I know,” he whispered.

   Wong frowned, before beginning tentatively, “perhaps it was for the best. We can no longer know the future and…why not embrace it however you can?”

   He looked at Wong, disbelieving, “we never had a future, the two times I saw it happen he died not long after.”

   “Were you both happy during that time?”

   Stephen jaw clenched, eyes narrowed and glassy from exhaustion, “I won’t be his executioner.”

   The man tried one more time, “you lost this tether…perhaps you two were just beyond that reach? Beyond your vision?”

   Stephen stared into his tea, stomach twisting, “all the same, he deserves better then that, then the future I could offer him.”

   “Which future is that?”

   Stephen didn’t hesitate, the images haunting him from the start, “dead, widowed, lonely.”

   Wong said nothing more.

\---

   Two more days and Stephen could admit he’d been eyeing the alcohol and its promise of a peaceful sleep for hours when there was a knock on the Sanctum’s door, forcing him to stand with a sigh of exasperation and a boost from the Cloak.

   Somehow, he wasn’t surprised when he swung the door open to find Tony Stark standing on his doorstep, dressed loosely in jeans and a sweater, incognito as he liked to say. His face was still slightly bruised but besides that he could see the dark circles under his eyes, couldn’t miss the frantic gleam as they ran over Stephen’s person.

   It was stupid of him, so stupid, but of course he did it anyway, stepping back from the doorway and letting Tony make his way inside. Fuck, he was breathtaking, it had been just over two weeks since he’d last seen him and the indescribable pull was stronger then ever, urging him to touch, to take and take.

   Apparently, he wasn’t the only one.

   The door clicked shut and suddenly warm lips were pressed to his, hands gripping at his hair, a solid familiar body against the line of his own. Stephen almost whimpered at the feeling, unable to stop, no matter how hard he tried, as he gripped Tony harshly around the waist and let them fall through a portal and directly onto his bed.

   There was a low groan from Tony and just like that…. everything slowed.

   Stephen looked down at Tony’s dark eyes, lowered himself gently on top of him, sticking to the right side so as not to aggravate the broke ribs he knew must still be aching. As if afraid Stephen would stop, as if he could, Tony caught his lips again, begging entrance with a swipe of the tongue which Stephen eagerly gave.

   The pang in Stephen’s chest scared the shit out of him.

   He had missed him so much it hurt. Even he knew that couldn’t be natural, not even with everything he’d seen, not even with out much he loved the man beneath him. Tony’s leg shifted so he could press his thigh firmly between Stephen’s legs, causing a satisfying friction against his arousal. He gasped quietly, found Tony’s dark, _adoring_ eyes watching him with a soft smile and Stephen, just like he always did, let him take everything.

\---

   Stephen was at a loss.

   The room was quiet, nearly silent but for Tony’s steady breathing, a washed in the vibrant orange and red hues that was the setting sun. With trembling fingers Stephen traced the elaborate bruising covering Tony’s chest, examining his ribs with a trained eye.

   It had never happened here. Stephen hadn’t let it.

   They spent an absorbent amount of time in the Sanctuary at the start, Tony’s mind filled to bursting with curiosity, with questions, and arguments against magic. It had been amusing and grounding to engage in heated debates with him, even when he had to cheat and drag Wong into the conflict. He missed that, missed it a lot.

   When they began having sex, Stephen limited time at the Sanctuary, afraid there would be no escape route, like right now. Tony was in his bed, sleeping and sated and Stephen didn’t know what to do, where to go.

   His eyes drifted over Tony’s face, the darkness of his eyes likely from nightmares these past weeks, and he felt a dull ache. Stephen sighed, thought about going downstairs before the self-loathing really got started, maybe get lost in his books for awhile.

   Yet.

   Just as he shifted to slid out from beneath the covers, warm fingers curled around his wrist, not tightly, simply restraining. Stephen swallowed thickly, meeting Tony’s half-closed eyes, blinking tiredly in the light.

   “Stay.”

   A whispered request, but Tony should know by now that it was as good as a command to Stephen, who was helpless to resist the gentle tug, as he let himself be pulled down next to him. Stephen’s body stretched along his, head resting carefully on his shoulder, eyes stinging because it felt so good, so _right_.

   “Don’t go,” Tony murmured. “Stop running away.”

   Stephen closed his eyes, his will shattering further with each word. It was terrifying, had been for awhile now, not knowing what was supposed to come next, what the future held. He didn’t want to admit it, didn’t want to face the possibilities, wanted hide away.

   “I love you,” Tony breathed.

   The words _burned._

   Stephen bit his lip harshly, those tears spilling over now, throat constricting around what he wanted and what he needed to say. His voice trembled as he spoke, needing to say it, “you deserve better Tony.”

   The arm wrapped around him tightened, though it had to be hell on his ribs, his hand tilting Stephen’s head up to look at him, to meet the intoxicating brown that had been his home for months now, made the chaos in his head still, always seemed to be promising more.

   “No, I don’t want better. I want you,” the words were quiet, intimate yet so filled with conviction that it made Stephen’s head spin. “Tell me you want me too.”

   The sound of that voice, pleading with him to tell him the truth, to admit to what this had been all along was too much to bare, always had been. So, like every other time, Stephen did what he was told, unable to resist the man that had become his whole world on the day he made the hardest decision of his life. It was like taking a plunge that you knew wouldn’t end well, yet still pretending there was softness below, that some miracle might just save you.

   “I…I do. I love you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and Kudos are always appreciated and used as canon fodder for my muse ;)


End file.
